


Primitive Radio Gods

by cailures



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-22
Updated: 2015-08-22
Packaged: 2018-04-16 16:29:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4632159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cailures/pseuds/cailures
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For #10.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Primitive Radio Gods

**Author's Note:**

> For #10.

She was in the kitchen making tea. Angie was cooking dinner, because Angie genuinely liked to cook, and all her time in the diner hadn't changed that, but Angie was still an American and didn't know how to make tea properly.

There was a radio set above the fridge, playing the Captain America show. In this week's episode, Steve was stymied in his latest adventure by some devilish contraption of the enemy that sounded suspiciously like someone dropping ball bearings into a glass of fizzing seltzer water. She reflected that between the low production budget and the clear lack of actual knowledge, at least she'd never hear anything that would remind her of the true horrors of the war, and perhaps their utter wrongness was, in some way, a comfort.

“Must we listen to this?” Peggy asked as nurse Betty Carver gave another vapid coo at their version of Steve Rogers.

Angie gave her an amused grin. “Are you kidding? I like it even more now that I know the truth. It's hilarious how wrong it it.” She gave the pot a stir. “Plus I no longer feel jealous of the girl who got the Betty Carver part. After all, I've got the real deal.”

Peggy shook her head and sighed. She supposed she could find the amusement in it if she tried. Picturing Angie giving those breathless, brainless deliveries of the most trite lines in existence was grating, however. “You're better than that part.”

Angie laid a hand on her shoulder. “So are you.”

Then there was a new voice on the radio, cutting through the babble of the brainless Betty Carver. 

“Don't worry, I'm here to help!” said a masculine voice, full of confidence and command.

“Am who are you?” asked Betty, in a voice that sounded a deep breath from popping the buttons off her blouse.

“Harold Spark, inventor! And Billionaire!” the voice said.

Peggy stared at the radio. “You must be joking.”

Angie was laughing. “Oh this should be rich.”

“In a moment, we'll return to the Captain America Adventure Hour, but first, a brief announcement from our sponsors. We're proud to announce that the Captain America Adventure Hour is now brought to you by Stark Industries, the new owners of this staation, and in celebration, our radio program will now be broadcasting as WSTK.”

Peggy briefly considered tossing the radio in the sink. “Rich would be one explanation.”

They left the radio on during dinner. Peggy had a hard time getting through the meal, as her mouth kept dropping open. Then she'd chew furiously for a few minutes until the next outrage. Harold Spark inventing a device to counteract the Nazi's latest weapon, souped up from scraps left around the camp. It wasn't even that it was improbable- she'd seen Stark do some impressive feats of engineering on the fly, and she would never have denied that he was anything other than brilliant and brave, but the sheer fawning adoration of the show was nearly enough to put her off her food.

Then Spark was captured. She was, admittedly, a little relieved that for once it wasn't Betty Carver being captured by the Nazis, waiting helplessly for rescue, but it didn't mean she wanted to listen to a caricature of anyone else facing it. At least when it was Betty, it usually mean the show was nearly over, and at any moment their booming, overblown version of Steve would save her. But the clock showed that the radio hour still had a good deal of time to play out, and some other twist was likely in store.

“You Nazi scum! I'll never talk!” declared Spark.

“Ve haf vays of mayken you talk!” responded the cartoonishly bad Nazi character. He was doing a better job than usual- no one would ever mistake him for an actual German, but at least he'd exaggerated his way past his usual Brooklyn accent.

Then the foley effects of a fight started up. Grunts and slaps of meat and sound effects that she suspected were made by doing things to cabbages and celery in a way that caused her some brief flash of pain and anger, more at the thought of the number of people back home who had been slowly starving under war rations than at the plain mockery of the pain and torture too many people had endured at the hands of others.

Harold Spark gave a loud- yet manly- scream of pain, and the associated sound effect made her push her plate away, unfinished.

Angie, who had not yet fully adjusted to the idea that she was now living in a luxury apartment and had a permanently stocked kitchen at her disposal, reached over to take the rest. “You know, it might not be all Stark's fault. I don't know the guy like you do, but some of it may just be that he's been cleared, and folks want to believe in him as a good guy again.” she gave a shrug. “Like an apology.”

On the radio, there was a dramatic rescue, involving what sounded like the destruction of several crates, a few glasses, and at least a few eggs.

Peggy put her hands around her mug of tea, letting the warmth chase away some of the chill that had crept in. “Howard is a complicated man. He has a hand in more things than you'd think.”

Angie wrapped some bread rolls in a napkin. She still visited the hotel and kept up with her friends there, and bringing them some of the bounty of her new living arrangement helped to ease some of the difficulty in the transition. “From what I've heard, he gets more than his hands into a lot of things.”

“Angie!” Peggy said.

As if on queue, Betty Carver could be heard, weeping over the bruised and battered Spark as he was brought back to camp. “Oh Mister Spark! You poor, poor man. Please, let me help you.”

“Nurse Carver! You are too kind. If a billionaire could be poor, I'd still be a richer man than many for receiving your kind ministrations.” The voice was dripping with stoic chivalry.

“Please, don't try to speak. Just let me take care of you.” Betty's voice was a whisper of feminine devotion.  
Peggy was gripping her silverware so tight it was bending. It was not cheap silverware. “I'm going to have to have a little word with Howard the next time I see him.”

Angie's eyes were twinkling. “You know, I was looking around this place a little the other night, and he's god some interesting costumes in his private boudoir. Including a nurse's outfit.”

She wasn't going to drop the radio in the sink. She was going to drop it in a bathtub. Preferably one with Stark in it.

 

The End.


End file.
